"Who are the children and who the adults?"

( video: Ira Glass on story-telling, quote: Henry Miller "Lime Twigs and Treachery. btw: well over 200 posts now!)

Your children are the problem. It pains me to say that, and it hurts down to my very genes and spine to persecute perhaps the only purpose true in our swirl. Energy, war, terrorism, angst, exploitation . . . these fruits all see their source in too many fucking people. And perhaps we may just escape this terra damnata, but even in that we'll choose who goes and who stays. We'll excise some gleaming class of beings with no more right to liberty than the sons of oil profiteers and hotel heiresses. And who does not meet those thresholds in this long pause will squabble and legislate and recycle their soup tins and petition the gov't to kick down scraps . . .but no one will ever say: "dose the water supply with birth control", or "implant an IVD with every vaccination".

The burned landscape stands charred lodgepole pine as a warning and a relief. From this things can be recovered. And to create, the old must sometimes be destroyed. And the burn is a year or two old, the upstart forest clambering over itself for the new sunlight with deformed little trees and the splayed hands of ferns. I'm city-born and city-bred, but the shadows and rock and water so fierce you can almost hear it screaming your name . . .in it the most profound thought can be examined: no thought at all.

I had an irreal workshop with a new friend last week. He's read a solid fraction of the things I've written over the last year and thinks that this is the best. Following close-critique of the story we meandered into something a bit more philosophical. And I had to wonder how much calculation and generation I have going on subconsciously, he saw things that are clearly there and are tendrils or tributaries of what I want to say; but I have never clearly thought all those thoughts.